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The Modern Ronance – Part II

Ronance isn’t dead

Bonjour bitches, remember me? That desperate lonely online dater, who braved the wild west of Holland Park to secure herself some socially distanced tinder action? Yep, that’s the one.

Now that I’ve grown myself some lady balls, I am no longer hiding my identity, so hi my name’s Camy ! Not like you care !

Anyway, moving swiftly on, let’s get down to business shall we? (cheeky, come off it)

Since my last rendez-vous, my peacock-infused Tinder action has not progressed. In a classic turn of events, I was forced to blue-tick the chirpse to avoid a freshly-baked pie in the face. Well, the strike was pre-emptive. And then I popped up and aired again. Never-mind the details. Moral of the story – the budding romance was nipped, leaving me high and dry.

Apart from obviously not, because as our dear Love Island has taught us all – NEVER have all your eggs in one basket. So, as my Easter Cadbury’s came and went, a new romance hatched, like a phoenix from the tinders (ayyy) of James’ ashes.

Enter my second suiter – let’s call him Wilbert. It’s very close to his actual name, so I’ll let your lil brain solve that rubiks cube. Fit, older, Geography graduate (sick set of colouring pencils), he had potential from the outset.

Testing the waters, voice notes were exchanged, a risky business for your girl here. But in a shocking development, he didn’t seem phased by the linguistic enigma that is my accent, likened by some (Sophie Peachey) to a speech impediment, and described by others as ‘what the fuck’. He even said it was “nice” – a step too far in my opinion, and a mammoth red flag if ever I’ve seen one.  

Not going to lie to you Stace, it was not the only. But after yet another chronicle of embarrassment (a slight confusion about a cancelled birthday party), and an acid wash slap in the face, my trademark ick had yet to descend.

So, naturally, it was time for the next step. The mount Everest of online quarandating, and nightmare of catfish everywhere; the facetime date. With my lady balls well and truly dropped (heehee) I decided that I would don my feminist jacket and take the plunge – I asked the question, preparing myself for the pure air likely to come my way.

After an agonising twelve hour wait, and in a shocking turn of events, he said yes??? Shit. We were not prepared for this. Running to my room, after some emergency consultation, there I was – makeup-ed, dressed from the waist up, and with my phone precariously hooked to a portable mirror to ensure there was no double chin action in sight.

Red, squinty, and quite bevved I answered the call, no doubt embarrassing myself with the torrent of ridiculous chat that exploded from my mouth. BUT, dear reader, in a conclusion more shocking than the end of GoT (RIP) it was actually a very nice first date (ish)…. And he still seems keen? Unlikely to last for long lol, will keep you posted xoxo

In the meantime, fancy your own blind date but don’t know any suitable suitors? Let Quaranzine set you up! Apply now for round two of Quaranzine First Dates !!

By Camy Sandford

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